Professor Rowan
by Elizabeth Fayes
Summary: Relationships between Professors and Students are absolutely forbidden at Doranelle College, but that can't stop Celaena from crushing on the hottest and cleverest guy on the planet: Professor Rowan. After all, 99% of the female population can't help stop and stare at him either. [AH. AU] [May change to Rated M later]
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Relationships between Professors and Students are absolutely forbidden at Doranelle College, but that can't stop Celaena from crushing on the hottest, smartest, cleverest, nicest guy on the planet: Professor Rowan. After all, 99% of the female population can't help to stop and stare at him either. [AH. AU] [May change to Rated M later]

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UPDATED VERSION of chapter 1

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"I wonder if he'll ever marry," a blonde haired girl whispers to her friend as I wait for Nehemia to finish collecting her books. "It's a shame he's neither easy to get nor seduce. I mean, it's like he has no feelings and preferences whatsoever."

"I know," her friend says back, not bothering to whisper, considering almost everyone talks about him. "Do you think he's gay?"

At such suggestion, I end up having a coughing fit trying to choke back a laugh. Both girls turn towards me, shoot me nasty glares, and then sashay off.

The subject of how a top-notch college like Doranelle could accept girls like them confused me to no end. Yet when money talks, it shouts.

"It's so disturbing to think that anyone is his type," Nehemia adds to no one in particular, closing her locker, "He rocks his bod, but he never even thinks of using it. If only Dorian looked like him."

I cough again, loudly, "You know it's forbidden to even be in a relationship with anyone above your class within four years." That's always been a rule in Doranelle, and one rule I'd never have a problem with.

The "he" all girls talk about or end up talking about is none other than the famous Professor Rowan. You can describe him in any insult, and his looks will turn it around to a compliment. Unfortunately, to the distaste of most of the female population, he's not interested or even seems to be interested in people, much less women. Hence the rumors of the fact that he may be gay, or that he lost a wife early on and swore to never love again (quite the over dramatics in my opinion) and so on.

She sighs, shaking her head, "But he's only twenty-three." We begin walking down the halls to the courtyard for lunch.

I actually choke, for that was younger than some of the students here. "You looked it up?" This means he's only four to five years older than me, thus within the datable range. I immediately cast that thought out of my head; it didn't matter how old he was, although he didn't look old or young-dating was an outlandish aspect. A weakness.

"Of course," she shrugs, "But really, does he have a phobia of tits or vaginas or something? He has no life other than the un-fun aspects in life. And that does sound awfully like yours."

I stop walking, offended at her jibe that struck close for personal reasons. "Well, excuse me if I have an ambition to succeed in life, unlike some people I know. I'm not the one who might end up pregnant one day with some sorry excuse of a guy."

Nehemia stops too, flushing, and realizing her mistake. "I'm sorry. It's just that you rarely have any social life. You don't even go to parties! You're pretty, and you push away guys, and it's like you're the female version of him."

Anger boils up in my stomach. How dare she? "Well, when your life gets all twisted, don't come running to me. It's fine that my parents abandoned me all because they wanted to party all the time, and ended up in jail because they were extreme alcoholics, and that when they were bailed out they didn't bother to contact me. And that's just fine, especially since I was five and had to live on the streets to survive. It's fine that I want to make the same mistake and ruin my life."

Nehemia opens her mouth, then shuts it after a few moments of contemplating-a wise choice.

I stalk away, and for a moment, I think I see someone staring at me, a shadow between a narrow corridor adjacent to the enormous, sputtering garden. Yet, when I poke my head in that direction, I see nothing.

* * *

I lean against a tree in determination, trying not to faint as I inhale oxygen greedily. The less physically painful way to let out my anger consisted of a ten-mile run at tempo pace. My right temple lightly throbs from the exhilarating workout; I hadn't hydrated as much today and hadn't eaten anything for my stomach to gain energy from.

My mouth is dry, throat parched, legs wobbly. Yet my brain tells me otherwise, roaring with freedom. There's no rules in running and no walls that can't be hurdled over. There's only your legs to push and guide.

I slowly walk back along the trail, hands on top of my head. My only regret was that I would now have to jog ten miles back and that definitely wasn't an average cool down.

I look at my watch, which blinks the digits two-thirty. My stomach rumbles in protest, so I decide to head towards the main street. However, fate disagreed as I only ended up winding into a narrow trail. My stomach growls and I hiss in frustration.

I turn around when I hear a noise from behind, only to trip and twist my right ankle. I go down, trying to steady myself, but right before I hit the floor, a pair of muscular arms wrap around my torso.

My reflexes shoot out before I can stop myself: my knuckles connecting to punch the person in the face. No way was I getting mugged today. I quickly attempt to stand up only, to my avail, to collapse on my ankle, my other knee hitting the ground first.

This time the person doesn't catch me, and I hit the floor with a thud. My elbow painfully throbs as half my body lands on it.

I groan and look up, staring at someone I'd never thought I'd ever see under these circumstances: Professor Rowan.

He's shirtless, only wearing running pants. I continue staring at him like I'd never seen a male before.

"It would've been a lot easier if you'd let me help you the first time," he says, nursing his jaw where a bruise is forming, "though I won't deny that you don't pack a punch."

I can finally relate to the girls (and the occasional guys) who talk, admire, and whisper about Professor Rowan all because of his looks, now that he's shirtless. Not that I didn't find him stunning and well-built before, as I'd always ignore those feelings and push them away to the darkest pits in my mind.

I immediately dismiss any thoughts that pertain to Professor Rowan's looks causing this feeling building up inside me, and concentrate on the situation at hand: I'm severely injured without any known way of returning back to my dorm.

When I try to sit up, I grunt at the pain radiating throughout my body. My forehead throbs even more, so I lean back against a tree trunk, squinting past the Sun to see his face.

"Are you okay?" he says, crouching down, his brows furrowing.

So apparently he does have feelings and isn't some hot robot as some other students suggest. Not that I believed them anyways. How could one pull off creating the perfect looking specimen?

"Does it look like I'm okay?" I snap, wincing as my elbow scrapes something against the tree trunk. I instantly bite my lip. That was no way to talk to a Professor; I could be kicked out for disrespectfulness, knowing the high tier Doranelle ranked at.

He notices my reaction and his lips quirk up into a dazzling smile. "Don't worry. You're not on campus grounds anymore."

I blink. I had run that far off the campus grounds? Doranelle was the largest college land-wise, yet only accepted the minimum amount of students. Prestigious in every sense. "Did you bring a ride, hopefully?" My voice is tinged with desperation as I swat a bug away from my banged up knee, aiming for the kill. It seemed as though bugs had a death wish every time they neared me.

Unfortunately, he shakes his head, his silver hair (which, according to Nehemia, isn't due to age, but a family trait) standing out from the green scenery. "I have a jeep about three miles north from here just in case I ever get hurt, usually for emergencies."

I nearly faint; three miles? Even though three miles was less than what I normally ran, my injuries would be more than a nuisance. He leans forward, easily and gently throwing me over his shoulder.

The gesture slightly offends me. Just because he was muscular didn't mean he had to carry me.

"I can walk." I protest somewhat weakly.

He just as easily and gently sets me down, mouth quirking up. "Whatever you say." His voice is half amused and half mocking, an attitude that was getting under my skin.

Does he take me as weak and dare mock me? Just because he also ran here-or did he?-didn't allow him to also taunt me. The majority of people wouldn't have been able to run a single mile.

Rather than betray my word, I started limping in the north direction-the direction to which the mountains point to. I'd been studying directions to plan different runs each day so I wouldn't tire of the same route. Maps elective had paid off after all.

Professor Rowan easily matched my pace, occasionally strolling ahead when I would warily slow down to avoid any obstacles that might make my injuries worse.

When he disappeared to check the route we're heading, I take a breather. My elbow has been starting to hurt beyond rutting relief now, most likely due to an infection. I don't bother to even look at my legs, afraid of what I might see.

"Regretting your choice?" Professor Rowan said, appearing from my left side.

I yelp, surprised, and tumble forward, only to be caught easily and gently thrown back over his shoulder.

"I'm not going to let you stumble around like a drunken idiot only to injure yourself even more," he says, his voice now serious, "So don't bother arguing."

I don't bother protesting as I drift off into sleep over his shoulder, the pain now unbearable.

* * *

"No, I haven't found the person yet," a familiar, deep voice says, "I'll keep searching, but your attempts are futile." There's a long pause, then, "the person you have been looking for most likely isn't here. In addition, being stuck here for years isn't exactly the same as being on the field."

He played field games like futbol? I'd never thought of him that way, except for a hardcore educator. Perhaps his team was looking for another player?

"I'm resigning after this full year. I'm sick of every girl who looks at me," he says, my stomach plummeting. The word every was a pretty strong word, after all, even though I was partially guilty of fantasizing about him. "Alright. Very well." He finally says, hangs up.

I yawn, as if I'd just woken up, looking around at my surroundings. I'm in an extremely comfy bed, unlike my own tiny and hard steel one, and when I look up, Professor Rowan is looking at me, his hands clenching the edge of the dresser, the phone slightly cracked.

"If you planned on missing your classes today, you've succeeded," he says, approaching me, an ice pack and medical kit now in his hands. How did he move so quickly?

He casually sets the blankets covering me to the side, revealing the undergarments I'm wearing. He took off my clothes? I was pretty sure he was breaking teacher conducts there.

To my surprise and delight, he blushes and says nothing. He wraps a new bandage around my knee, presses the ice pack against my temple, and applies a paste to my elbow.

"What do you mean I can't attend my classes today? I already took care of them." I frown, and look out the window, where the lights are barely peeking through the windows. My stomach growls and clamps down; I gasp. "What time is it? Where am I?"

He hands me a tea that smells like herbs, which I gratefully down. "You've been out for more than twelve hours," he says. "You had a nasty cut on your head and fainted because of the concussion. I should have never let you walk."

I sit up suddenly at the guilty tone in his voice. I immediately regret my actions as a wave of nausea washes over me. I slide back down into the bed and close my eyes. "Well I'm not the damsel in distress, so don't blame yourself."

He snorts and I hear his footsteps fade, signaling he was no longer near the bed. "You and I have different ideas of a damsel in distress, then."

I open my eyes and see him rubbing a salve together with his hands.

"No infections? Nothing to serious?" I demand. "Most of my core courses revolve around physical activities like combat." Her past caretaker, to put it lightly, would be furious if she lost her rights and scholarship to Doranelle's privileged access, lest it be because of injuries she couldn't fend for.

He turns around to look at me. "I'd like to think that a concussion, which made you pass out, more than five deep, serious, bruises, a cut on your forehead that will affect your performance and cause vertigo, a twisted ankle, dislocated elbow I had to snap back into position, and a split kneecap isn't that serious at all." His face is contorted as if he's containing a laugh and trying to look serious at the same time.

It wasn't like I could say I've had worse, so I dryly settle for. "Sarcasm noted." A quick peek ankle at my sore ankle forces a wince from my face.

He smirks and hands me the tube of salve, instructing on how to apply it to my forehead. After I attempt to fix myself up, he says, "I took you to my room, taught a class, and then called the office for two days off. Your injuries are pressing and-"

"-How come you didn't take to the nurse or hospital?" I interrupt, "I didn't take my phone so Nehemia or my other friends might think I'm missing. So since I was out for more than twelve hours-wait, I slept here? Why did you take two days off?"

A stern look cuts me off. "I've called you in as you've contacted malaria. It was the only thing I could think of because I had mosquito bites. The College Board told me to stay in just in case I also got malaria. If you didn't have that, you still would've had to attend your classes, which you are not in current shape to do."

I frown, "But I don't have malaria." Seeing his facial expression, I say, "Okay, okay, I have malaria and I'm in quarantine."

He nods, and checks on up my knee, his slender hands sliding over my leg. His hands leave goosebumps trailing and I try not to squirm. I control my breathing because I know if I don't, it'll sound like he has such an effect over me, which I definitely don't want him to know.

Professor Rowan's door suddenly bangs open, much to both of our surprise. He jumps, causing me to assume he doesn't have visitors over much.

A tall, golden haired male, just as equally ripped as Professor Rowan, entered. "Unlike quarantine, to who however suggested that, there's pizza!"

Were they dating? Was Professor Rowan actually gay? My heart rate picks up in anticipation, but his next words calm the waves.

"Dude, did you know that there's a girl called Maia who freaking gives the best massages? I mean, not the back massages, but the massages everywhere-" He spots me as he walks to the kitchen area, Rowan at the foot of the bed, me in only in undergarments, the blankets thrown over the bed and says with delight on his face, "Did you finally have a good fuck, Rowan?"

I jerk up, and Professor Rowan flushes all over, and the man continues to say, "Finally, man! It's about time you got over Lyria."

Rowan stares at his 'companion', fury building up into his face.

"I mean," the man ignorantly continues, and looks at me up and down to the point where I'm violently flushing. "She looks pretty good in bed too. Not to mention the fact that she's hot."

I instantly hate him, dislike swarming my veins. Did he not see the mortification written on our faces? How did Rowan consider him a friend? Did he think I was deaf?

Professor Rowan still doesn't speak, his face now stone-cold. My heart oddly plummets. Was I really that horrible? Did I offend him in any way? Who was Lyria?

"He brought me here because I passed out-I was badly injured." I say quietly, speaking of for the two of us. I motion towards myself, and the man inspects my injuries.

"Oh," he says, face contorting in confusion and embarrassment.

"Oh, indeed, Gavriel," Professor Rowan says.

It's Gavriel's turn to flush, "My bad. I just thought that-"

"Well, you thought wrong," Professor Rowan says, his face clear. Why am I so strangely disappointed by his reaction? I didn't want anything between us, anyways. He was just an extremely young good-looking professor. That's all.

Liar, my brain chides.

"Pizza?" I parrot, too embarrassed to say anything else. To cover things up, I say, "By the way, I'm dating someone else, so…."

Now to both Gavriel's and my surprise, Rowan's face hardens again, and he abruptly heads towards the bathroom, the mosaic door slamming hard. I'd have to think about these mixed signals later.

Gavriel bursts out laughing, and hands me a slice of pepperoni pizza. "I'd never thought I'd see Rowan's panties get all knotted up into a twist."

I choke on the huge piece of food.

"What I mean," he amends, setting the box down, "Is that ever since our friend Rowan here-"

"-I wouldn't even use the word friend yet." I mutter, thinking back at his cold expressions.

Gavriel grins widely, showing canine-like teeth. "Oh, I definitely bet he doesn't consider you a friend. Much, much more than a friend. He's never, ever let anyone in here: I just finally managed to hack the combo which took months. Lyria, his one love, betrayed him, so he has trust issues. She had the nerve to get pregnant with someone else. Like, man, if you're going to cheat, use protection and do it right. Her excuse was that Rowan didn't even allow her in his bedroom, which was, quote on quote, 'unsatisfying in many ways.' After that, Rowan hasn't trusted any female, which is retarded, but then again, he really loved her. I mean, I've known him since we were little and were with Maeve. Yet here you are, in his room, which never happened even with the love of his life."

I slowly take in the story. This gossip would send Nehemia spinning. "What happened with Lyria afterwards?"

Gavriel sends me a feral grin. "Karma got her, not that I'm complaining. She had a miscarriage, the guy she cheated with cheated on her, and Rowan discarded her like trash. In the end, she committed suicide. Maeve was all happy since she never liked Rowan attached to anyone and Lyria's lower status. Protocols and all." He waves a hand lazily in the air.

I blink, slowly eating the pizza. "Maeve? Who's that?" Protocols?

He shuts his mouth, slowly reopens it, contemplating. "Wait, you were really injured. As in, you were clumsily human enough to fall and trip? Nothing fang-like? And you don't know Maeve?"

I blink again, not quite understanding his hidden meanings. "Are you talking about a new video game or something?"

Rowan walks in again, completely unaware of the conservation that just transpired, looking smug. "I've securely rerouted my systems, and trust me Gavriel, this is the last time you'll ever be in here."

Gavriel throws his hands in the air while simultaneously throwing a piece of crust, which he catches in his mouth. "Dude, we rarely see you anymore," he chews, then casts a glance at me, "She's, like, human, and you really didn't get laid?"

Rowan says, "Nothing your perverted mind would think is important, and we need to talk-" at the same time I say, "What do you mean human? We all have the same DNA code and sequence and have twenty three chromosomes and-"

"Ah!" Gavriel throws a different pizza slice at Rowan, who deftly catches it. "What's your name?" he says, looking at me.

I huff. "Are you going to put that in your video game too?"

To my absolute confusion, Rowan sighs while Gavriel chuckles loudly.

"What?" I snap.

Gavriel shakes his head. "My video game has quite the variety of names, though I think I'll want to remember yours."

Rowan snorts at this, silently chewing. His eyes are pinned on my form.

"I mean, considering the fact that I found you in Rowan's bed, aka sanctuary." Gavriel smirks at Rowan, whose fists are now knotted into his thin shirt, his eyes glaring holes at Gavriel's.

"Who's Maeve?" I ask again, and Rowan's sudden carefree demeanor vanishes, and Gavriel looks strangely guilty.

"Maeve," Rowan repeats, slowly, and turns toward Gavriel. "Maeve?" he demands in a harsher, louder voice.

Who the hell was she to have them so riled up?

"Hey!" Gavriel protests, stepping backwards, "I thought, you know, she was-"

"What the hell is going on?" I interrupt, and then add, "Can I have another slice?"

Rowan grabs Gavriel's neck and hauls him into another room, while completely ignoring me. Well, then.

As I struggle to get up, I see my running clothes folded neatly on the bottom dresser. When I sling the tank top over my head, I distantly smell lemons and something else distinctly manly. So Rowan washed my clothes. The thought somewhat disturbs yet excites me. I couldn't be falling for him? I would never stoop to everyone else's level.

I manage to get up, and get a good look at Professor Rowan's "room". There's nothing much, no decorations or photos, just simple furniture.

I walk over to where his phone was with the cracked screen. On it is a displayed text:

I've just discovered something about the person. Kill him immediately if you find him; he poses a threat to me and my society more than anyone can possibly imagine. -M

I raise an eyebrow. Was this part of the intense video game they felt the need to keep down? Did the "M" stand for Maeve? A quick glance out the slightly parted drab curtains illustrate a sunny, cloudless sky, but most importantly, a lake.

I suck in a sharp breath. He had a goddamned crystal-clear lake in his backyard? Rowan had always taken me as a pragmatic, one-house efficiency type of guy. The desire to swim, despite my injuries, propelled me forward, but the desire to eavesdrop pulled me back. Eventually, I walked to the door, silently open it, and jerk my head back at the rising tones.

"You involuntarily brought her into this world all with your big mouth." Rowan heatedly says.

"At least my mouth know how to please a woman." Gavriel says dismissively. "Besides, she thinks we're talking about a video game."

Not anymore, I think smugly to myself. But what were they actually talking about then so that they lied to me?

"Are you afraid of Maeve finding out about a simple crush?" Gavriel asks, frowning. "I'll never understand your taste in innocent, unaffiliated woman."

Innocent, unaffiliated women, my ass.

A vein on Rowan's neck throbs, and his arm tenses, as if to instigate a fight. With both their bulk, the fight would be more than violent, especially with Rowan's jaw still swollen. If I didn't intervene, I probably wouldn't have a ride back to my dorm. Before I can barge through and feign innocence as if I haven't been listening to their conversation in order to break up their fight, Rowan slowly shakes his head.

"I'm more afraid of Maeve finding the person who could take down her organization. If someone does before we do, our hopes of destroying it will perish. And then, we'll no longer be free."

Gavriel's face turns serious, an expression that unsuited his playboy, golden face. "I know. Though how does Maeve know the person is a male?"

"She's bribed some other blacklist organization for the witness's family ties. The witness, apparently only a child during the scene, is from Galathynius blood, but no one appears under that last name. The parents are long dead, but officials believe the witness was a boy before he fled and went off the grid. Maeve believes they're telling the truth."

The world seemed to stop for a moment.

Galathynius.

Before I ran away from my parents, I had changed my last name to Sardothien, wanting nothing to do with my past life. Yet, with no adult supervision or daily comforts, I cut my short hair as frequently as possible, which had helped me maintain my efficiency while stealing and hiding my true identity if someone tried to charge me. Apparently, that worked, as some organization thought that I was a boy. Yet why was a person called Maeve after me? What organization was this-the organization that apparently Rowan and Gavriel were part of?-which they were unwillingly tied to?

What did I witness as a "boy" to warrant a death?

"If the witness was just a boy when it happened, he might not even remember what Maeve did. If so, he wouldn't be able to bring down Maeve in the first place." Gavriel's solemn tone rattles my bones. What did I see that this so-called Maeve wanted to completely and thoroughly cover up? My blood pumps faster.

"That's a chance I'll take." Rowan says. "Better to hope and take action than sit on our asses until Maeve releases our contract to set us free."

"She'll never set us free if she finds out we're undercover for General Aedion." Gavriel bleakly comments.

I take a large step back, and then several small ones. Aedion was the name of my cousin I'd only met a couple of times when I was young before my parents turned into drunkards. Aedion's parents were in high government positions, something I always envied. But Rowan and Gavriel were working for my long-lost cousin I'd unwillingly severed contact with. If they were working undercover for a government official, Maeve had to be some sort of criminal looking for me.

When I was accepted into Doranelle, I tried researching Aedion, but couldn't find any traces of him. The only way to track him down meant finding his alias, but I had no clue what that could be.

When curiosity lulls me back to the door, Rowan and Gavriel had moved onto the topic of semantics for some next "mission."

I desperately cast my mind back to think of anything particular, but nothing emerged. Looks like I had some family catching up to do.

Where are you Aedion?


	2. AN

UPDATE: This story is currently active. Happy to announce that Darkraven1990 will be my beta.

Keep your eyes open as this story will continue progressing!

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On a side note, I've had recent activity with unfriendly PMs and reviews I've taken down that irk me. If you don't like my story or how Nehemia is portrayed as a gossipy girl, etc, don't read my story. It's as simple as that. My writing comes from me, and if you want to insult my grammar and how horribly I write, note that I've put it through several processers first which have cleared my writing. English is also my native language and saying "really really really bad grammar" is kind of hypocritical, don't you think? For your sake I've re-edited my first chapter, but if you want me to do so, there's nicer ways out there. PR is important, and words are mightier than the sword.

I write for myself, not to please certain writers out there. I'm sorry if I offended some of you readers, but it also pains me to think that my writing can be so easily belittled and disparaged without a second's thought. I'm sorry if you don't like my writing, my thoughts, my grammar, or the way I portray the characters. I love constructive criticism, but there's a fine line between _threatening _me by saying I should kill myself and suggesting.

I refuse to let these setbacks affect my writing. I've been with the ToG for a very long time. I'm not going to give that up despite threats.

-Liz


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